


drown all those sorrows in a tall glass

by pepperfield



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dysfunctional Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperfield/pseuds/pepperfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alcohol makes you more interesting.</p>
<p>Alcohol makes you better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drown all those sorrows in a tall glass

It's not like you had plans to let things go so far. Just a dab here, a sip there, and oh, it's not like anyone's looking, so who's going to judge if you empty the bottle? Everything else in this enormous house, on this burnt out planet, is empty, why not one more glass trophy? Add it to the collection of shit you've gotten awards for accomplishing in this lifetime.  
  
What's the harm in trying? There has to be some merit in the activity, since so much of the population, including those you  _know_  to be intelligent, used to indulge in the vice. So if only once, maybe you'll understand why she felt like she needed to be in a constant state of inebriation around you. Maybe she'll like you better this way.  
  
  
It's disgusting and horrid the first time. You have no idea why she does it. You decide that perhaps you, not the drink, are the problem.  
  
So you try again. Just one more drink. There's nothing to do out here anyway.  
  
It goes down easier the next time. The fire in your throat rises up to your eyes, and your head spins a little, but you finish your self-allotted amount.  
  
The fifth time, you imbibe enough to realize that your words flow faster, with a sort of facile smoothness that makes you feel shiny and brave. So this is the upside, you realize. You also realize that you're tired of the same old, same old. You just want to hang out and kind of screw around. You have responsibilities, and plans to prepare for, and friends to tend to, but fuck it, you deserve a break once in a while. There's all these other bottles you haven't cracked open yet, so you grab one that catches the light just so, and settle in next to a pillow for some well-earned you time.  
  
By the eighteenth, you forget why you ever thought this was a bad idea. Sure, the whole "underaged" thing, but who's around to enforce that rule? You were born into a doomed world, how much more can a little booze hurt you?  
  
By the twenty-third time, you stop counting.  
  
  
Strider tries to talk to you about your "problem," as he calls it, but he just doesn't get it. It's not a problem. He's thinking like you used to, but you understand now. Your mom was only looking out for you; she knew how fucked up everything was going to become, so she stocked up on the world's best pain reliever just for you. All that care, disguised as neglect. Well played, mother.  
  
As you down another glass, you wonder if she'll be proud of you when you meet.  
  
Look at me, you'll cry, like some child begging for a scrap of attention. I'm now as interesting as you are. I can write just like you, I deserve to bear your name, I can be just what you wanted, I can live up to your expectations.  
  
I can be good enough.  
  
I just need a little help.  
  
Just one more drink.


End file.
